


I don’t even know

by FriendOfTheGhost



Category: Good Omens
Genre: Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:11:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19716889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendOfTheGhost/pseuds/FriendOfTheGhost
Summary: There’s just...a lot of whump. Post Armageddidn’t.





	1. Part 1

“Hey, Aziraphale, what was the name of that one poet I liked? Evan something?”

Crowley was obviously drunk. Still, Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile a bit as he rolled his eyes. 

“Edgar,” the angel corrected. “Edgar Allen Poe.”

“Oh yeah! Wha’s he doin’, going around with three first names? A man doesn’t need that many firs’ names…do you have an’thing else to drink, angel?” Crowley asked, showing off his empty glass. 

“My dear, even if you  _ haven’t _ consumed all the alcohol in the shop already, I wouldn’t advise you drinking any more.”

“Oh, you’re no fun. I can get rid of...this,” Crowley gestured vaguely at his head, “any time I like, you know that.”

“You still shouldn’t drink anymore,” Aziraphale said. “I, however, am going to see if I have any wine left.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a look that said “What are you talking about, you just said no more drinking?”

“Dear, you may be severely intoxicated,” Aziraphale reasoned, “I, however, am not. Now don’t do anything while I’m gone.” And with that he left to see if Crowley has indeed drank  _ everything _ in his shop. 

After a few minutes of searching, it turned out that there was exactly one bottle left. Aziraphale didn’t recognize it, and it didn’t have a label. He opened the bottle and sniffed it. It smelled like a perfectly good red wine, so Aziraphale shrugged and brought the bottle back to the room where Crowley was lounging. The demon had taken off his glasses and placed them on the arm of the couch. 

As Aziraphale poured himself a glass, Crowley began singing a (terrible) version of “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Mama Mia, Mama Mia, Mama Mia let me go

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for MEEEE!”

Crowley screeched the last note so loudly it caused Aziraphale to jump. 

“You are definitely not drinking anymore.”

“You’ve said that.”

“Well now I’m certain.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Why are you keeping all that wine to yourself? It’s gonna taste terrible if you leave it open.” With that he snatched the bottle off of Aziraphale’s desk. 

“Crowley, don’t!” the angel warned as the demon good a good swig straight from the bottle.

Crowley coughed as he handed the wine back. “This drink’s not going down so well...Oh, why does that  _ burn? _ ”

“Burn? It doesn’t—” Aziraphale was cut off by Crowley loudly coughing, as if he had accidentally inhaled the liquid. Crowley put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. 

“Dear are you alright?” Aziraphale moves closer to put a hand on the demon’s shoulder. Crowley drew a shaky breath and shook his head, before continuing to cough, even more violently than before.

“Crowley,  _ what is wrong _ ?”

The demon finally paused in coughing and brought his hand down from his mouth, to show that it was soaked in blood. He looked at Aziraphale, and for the first time that the angel could remember, he saw absolute panic flash in Crowley’s yellow eyes. 

Crowley tried once more to clear his throat, which caused another fit of coughs that racked his whole body. The demon collapsed to the floor and curled in on himself. 

Aziraphale dropped to the floor as well, hands hovering over his friend, unsure of what to do. Then a thought sprang to his mind, and Aziraphale could have kicked himself for being so stupid. “You’re an angel, you have powers,  _ use them!” _ He told himself 

The angel concentrated, trying to use a Miracle to cure Crowley of whatever was affecting him so horribly, but whatever Aziraphale did only seemed to make matters worse. Crowley has ceased coughing, but now seemed unable to get air in or out of his lungs at all. 

“No, no, no no nononono! Crowley!” Aziraphale felt panic, pure, blind panic, rise up in his chest, and tears clouded his vision. 

Crowley had a hold of Aziraphale’s lapel at this point, using it as an anchor to try to keep himself conscious. The angel grabbed the hand pulling him downward, not even really paying attention to what he was saying to Crowley. Probably things along the lines of “just breathe. You’re gonna be fine, just please Crowley, breathe,  _ please!” _

Crowley slowly stopped wheezing, and Aziraphale could feel ice in the pit of his stomach as the hand clutching his jacket slowly relaxed and went limp. 

“Crow...Crowley…?” Tears began to fall down Aziraphale’s cheeks as his friend...his  _ best and only  _ friend, fell still. “You can’t leave me, Crowley,” he sobbed. “I’m so, so sorry...you can’t…” the angel drew a slow, shaky breath. “Come on, you have to wake up...Crowley  _ please wake up!” _

But the demon did not move. Aziraphale pulled Crowley close to him, and he sat there for a long time, holding his demon and sobbing. Big, loud, painful sobs that echoed throughout the empty book shop. 

Aziraphale mourned his friend until dawn. And long after the sun was up, he still sat there, unable to will himself to do anything. 

Hours later, when the day had passed and it was once again night, Aziraphale finally found the strength to take Crowley and fly to the place in the woods where they had first met the witch girl. Anathema. There, he dug a grave. It was a hard job, through it all Aziraphale continued to cry. Sometimes it was silent, gentle tears. Other times it was more sobbing that caused him to pause and sit down inside the hole that already reached over his head when Aziraphale was sitting down. 

By dawn, the grave was finished. Aziraphale gently lowered his demon, his  _ friend, _ down into the earth, and covered him in one brief Miracle. (Aziraphale scoffed at the name this time. As if it were a damned miracle that he had to bury the one person he had ever truly allows himself to care about.)

Somehow, somewhere in the back of his numb mind, Aziraphale connected the dots and realized that the wine must have been laced with Holy Water. 

Holy water that must have come from the angels. Gabriel. Sandalphon. Michael, or Uriel. One of them, Aziraphale guessed. 

They wanted Crowley dead. Not just discorporated,  _ dead.  _ Never coming back. 

And the sorrow and emptiness in Aziraphale’s heart and mind were replaced with pure, white hot, barely contained  _ rage.  _

Aziraphale unfurled his wings and shot into the sky, flaming sword materializing in his hand. 

Being taunted and picked on his entire existence, Aziraphale could take. He knew the angels hated him. He knew they wanted him dead. 

That, he could live with. 

But Gabriel? Oh, Gabriel would pay for this. 

Aziraphale burst into Heaven, and flew straight to Gabriel’s office. The Archangel barely had time to get in a look of surprise before Aziraphale plunged the sword through his chest. 

“You took... _ everything _ from me,” Aziraphale said in a deadly calm voice. 

Gabriel looked down at the blade stuck in his chest, then at Aziraphale’s cold, piercing eyes, before slumping to the ground, 

dead. 


	2. Part 2

As the rage and adrenaline faded, Aziraphale found himself being gawked at by about five angels, Michael and Uriel in the front. 

“You killed him,” Michael gasped. 

Aziraphale looked down at the sword in his hand, covered in Ichor, and at Gabriel’s motionless body. He had killed an archangel, and somewhat registered Uriel calling for people to take Aziraphale away, presumably to the execution chamber.

Aziraphale had never been there himself, he realized as he was grabbed by the forearms and escorted out of the room. Crowley had been there though, back when they had switched places.It was almost laughable that the punishments they had avoided back then were the exact punishments that he and Crowley were probably going to be given today. Well, Crowley had already been destroyed

Tears began to fall down Aziraphale’s cheeks once again. Sandalphon took it to mean that the angel was scared for himself. “No point in crying for yourself now, traitor. You should have known you never would have gotten away with this.”

Aziraphale frowned. He didn’t think he had ever cried for himself. Not once, throughout the 6000 years he had spent on earth, endured the ridicule and abuse from Heaven, through all the wars and death and tragedy, did Aziraphale think he had taken a single moment to feel sorry for himself.

The angels holding Aziraphale’s arms stopped suddenly, and he realized that they were not, in fact, in the execution chamber. This room was smaller, a bit less bright than the rest of heaven. At the far end of the room, a woman sat in a simple, unadorned throne.

God.

“Mother,” Michael said, “this Traitor had killed one of his own kind in cold blood. And he has sided with a demon, gone even so far as to trade places with the demon, thereby avoiding previous punishment for stopping Armageddon.”

God stood slowly. Aziraphale realized that She was no taller than any woman on Earth. He had always thought that She would make Herself more imposing.

“I am well aware of what Aziraphale has done,” God said calmly. “Please leave us.”

Michael looked between God and Aziraphale. “But… he is dangerous--”

“I am fully aware of what Aziraphale is capable of. Leave us, please.”

Not once did God raise Her voice. That was almost worse than yelling.

Gracefully, Michael nodded her head and shooed the other angels out of the room. When it was just Aziraphale and God, She stepped towards him, close enough that Aziraphale could reach out and touch Her if he wanted.

“You killed Gabriel.” It was not a question.

“Yes.”

“In revenge for the death of a demon.”

“Crowley.”

God smiled. It was the faintest thing, but it was there. “Yes. Anthony Crowley. Your intentions were noble, Aziraphale, but your actions cannot go unpunished. Revenge or not, the murder of a fellow angel is unforgiveable.”

Aziraphale knew that it was coming, but hearing it made Her words no less terrifying. “What...what is to happen to me?” he asked.

“What do you think should happen?”

That made Aziraphale pause.

His first thought was death. Hellfire, like what Gabriel had intended after the Armageddon was stopped.

But that was something that Aziraphale almost welcomed at this point. Expected.    
And besides, Gabriel’s death had been quick. Aziraphale’s shouldn’t be.

God had called what Aziraphale had done “unforgivable.” Crowley had described himself as that once.

“Cast me out,” he said, almost without meaning to. “I become a demon. I Fall. Burn.”

God raised Her eyebrows. “That’s what you believe should happen to you?”

“Yes.”

God nodded. “Okay. And what of the demon Crowley?”

Aziraphale frowned. “What of him?”

“He was innocent in this whole… series of events. Do you believe he should come back?”

Aziraphale could hardly believe his ears. “I...yes, but--”

“Yes?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I don’t believe I should be permitted to interact with him. Not anymore. I am--have been-- a danger to his existence. Since the beginning.”

“But he would still seek you out.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Then he shouldn’t remember me.”

God watched Aziraphale for a long time. “You want this?” She asked.

Aziraphale nearly burst into tears again. “Of course I don’t. But...Crowley shouldn’t suffer for things he hasn’t done. He didn’t kill Gabriel, and he didn’t deserve to die simply because he cared about humanity. That is all either of us have ever tried to do. Just...care about people.”

“Okay,” God said, turning and sitting back in her throne. “You will be cast out, and shall become a demon. I will bring Crowley back to life. You are not to interact with him again, and he will not remember you.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale was dreading the Fall, but Crowley… Crowley would be okay. He wouldn’t have Aziraphale anymore but he would be okay.

“I’ll let you say goodbye,” God said gently, waving her hand.

“What?” 

“Aziraphale?” a small voice behind the angel said.

Aziraphale turned around, and there stood Crowley. His glasses were missing and his clothes looked cleaner than they had ever been in life but oh my God, it was  _ Crowley. _

Without even realizing it, Aziraphale rushed forward and swept Crowley up in a rib, crushing hug.

“MRPFF!” Crowley grunted. “Hey, angel. What’s going on-- _ Is that Mum?!” _

Aziraphale stepped back and studied Crowley’s face, trying to memorize it as if he hadn’t already done so thousands of years ago.

“Angel, why have you been crying?” Crowley asked. “Last I remember, I...oh...right.”

Aziraphale tried to fight off a brand new wave of tears. “Look, Crowley… You’re not gonna remember me.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean…” Aziraphale took a shaky breath. “You can come back but...We can’t talk to each other. Not anymore. That was the deal.”

“Aziraphale why--”

“Because I would rather live an eternity knowing that you’re safe and away from me, than one more day with you dead  _ because  _ of me.”

“Al...Alright, how long do we have?” Crowley looked around Aziraphale to look at God.

“Five minutes,” She said after some thought.

“Okay, um…” Crowley laughed nervously. “Aziraphale, I...thank you. For being my best friend. And...caring about me and being there for me and believing that I was worth it.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “You were worth it.  _ Are _ worth it.”

“And don’t spend the rest of your life mourning me,” Crowley ordered. “I mean it. I know how you get when you’re upset. Don’t hole yourself up in your shop and mope. Not for me.”

Aziraphale looked at the ground and nodded.

“Oh… come here.” Crowley stepped forward and gave Aziraphale a hug. The angel welcomed the embrace, and began to cry.

“I’m gonna miss you, Crowley.”

“I...Yeah. Imma miss you, too,” the demon whispered.

They stood together for a few moments, just being together. 

God said, in a sorrowful tone, “I am sorry.”

Pain exploded in Aziraphale’s head and across his back. The last thing he heard before hitting the floor was Crowley shouting his name.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the cinnamon roll of a woman who talks to me at work:  
> I probably wouldn’t finish this without you. Thank you.

When Aziraphale regained consciousness, he found himself at home in his bookshop. Sunlight was pouring in through a window, and the angel had a massive headache. He tried to miracle it away like he normally would, but the dull ache remained. It seemed to exist in his bones. Like he had gotten hit by a train, or fallen from some height—

Fallen. That’s what had happened to Aziraphale. He stumbled towards the bathroom, and flinched at the sight he found in the mirror. 

You see, angels have a certain glow about them. Even if humans can’t tell what they’re looking at is an angel, they  _ can _ realize that there is something different about them. 

For Aziraphale, that glow was now gone. Physically he hadn’t changed much, but the room no longer seemed to brighten up around him. In fact he almost seemed to make it dimmer. 

One of the main things about his appearance that  _ had _ changed was his eyes. Instead of a nice shade of blue, they had lightened until the irises were almost white, with all the color having fled to the edge, creating a dark ring. 

And his wings...Aziraphale almost didn’t dare look. But still, he slowly unfurled his wings and stretched them out as much as he could in the room that he had. 

They weren’t a nice, silky black like Crowley’s. Aziraphale’s wings looked like they were still smoldering, with parts of feathers burned off and every once in a while, a spark would fly off. 

So Aziraphale was a demon. He felt...cold. Alone. And he couldn’t even call Crowley because he wouldn’t even remember Aziraphale. 

The an--demon shook his head to clear it. Crowley had been right: no point in moping. Crowley was alive. And so was Aziraphale.

He walked downstairs, headache beginning to ebb. Something about the shop was...off. It was in the air. Nothing looked wrong, all the books were in their proper places, but Aziraphale swore that something had changed. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of people walking outside the shop that it hit him: Aziraphale couldn’t sense  _ love _ anymore. 

The realization stopped him cold. He wondered what it would be like now, unable to feel love. Would it be like losing any other sense? Hearing? Vision? Aziraphale shook his head for the second time that day. Just then, he had a more pressing matter to deal with. 

There were a great many holy and semi-holy items in Aziraphale’s shop, namely the incorrectly printed bibles that he collected. And of course, the remainder of the wine that had killed Crowley. 

Any of these things posed at least a minor threat to Aziraphale’s wellbeing. Crowley knew never to venture into the back storerooms. But there were books that were stored along with the Bibles that Aziraphale still had a use for. 

And so, he began to search for a pair of thick gardening gloves left over from the days of raising Warlock Dowling. Technically, they were Crowley’s but...well, Aziraphale had never gotten around to returning them. 

Very, VERY carefully, Aziraphale removed the bibles from their shelf and placed them in a box. Once or twice, he had to pause because the holy energy burned even through the thick rubber. 

After he was done, and all the holy items had been removed, Aziraphale collapsed into a nearby armchair. The sun had gone down, and the shop had gone quiet. Instead of relaxing him, however, the silence became deafening, pressing in on him from all sides. Aziraphale’s heart began to pound. Suddenly terrified, he all but ran towards the front door and stepped out into the night air, trying to catch his breath.  _ A panic attack _ , he thought.  _ I’m having a damn panic attack. _ He shoved his hands into his pockets and stumbled blindly down the sidewalk, not paying attention to anything around him. He just needed to get  _ out. _ Away from the shop, away from Soho and the restaurants where everyone knew him.

He didn’t know how long he walked. Probably a few hours. When he finally looked around, Aziraphale realized that he had no idea where he was. Definitely a park somewhere. Not St. James.

The once-angel looked up at the sky at the few stars he could see through the clouds. 

He thought back to the first conversation he had ever had with a demon. 

“You’re an Angel,” the demon had said. “I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”

But that wasn’t true, was it? Angels could do wrong things. And it made them demons when they were found out. You could ask too many questions. Rebel against heaven. 

Kill another angel. 

What if he had been wrong? What if Aziraphale hadn’t killed the one who killed Crowley? 

_ Well, honestly, _ Aziraphale thought,  _ Gabriel had it coming anyway. He was wanted to kill me and Crowley after the apocalypse had been stopped. Gabriel had wanted Adam to end the entire world over what was essentially a pissing contest between heaven and hell. So of course he deserved to...die… _

Aziraphale leaned on a nearby tree for support and tried not to be sick.  _ Bad angel. Bad thoughts. Horrible, nasty thought, what are you doing? Bad angel, bad angel… _

_ Good demon.  _

Was that what that was? The darkness nagging in the back of his mind? Was that because that’s how  _ all _ demons thought? 

_ Oh, Crowley. I didn’t know.  _

Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and transported himself home. The books no longer seemed to offer warmth. Instead, they seemed cold and lifeless.

As he mourned how the books used to feel, Aziraphale realized that he felt utterly and completely  _ exhausted. _ He felt the ache deep in his bones. And so he trudged up the stairs into the small bedroom that he never used, and collapsed into bed, without bothering to change clothes. He was asleep almost instantly. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
